


Dirty Ferelden Kuh-Nig-Ets!!

by Ivy_Adair



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)
Genre: Bad Accents, Crack, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Gen, Humor, I'm Sorry, Les Druffalo, Orlesian Wardens, Parody, References to Monty Python, Silly, crackfic, seriously i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:58:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3441236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivy_Adair/pseuds/Ivy_Adair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Complete and utter Crackfic written in response to a K-meme prompt asking for Coh-man-der Coolen of ze Inquisition getting taunted by Orlesian Wardens a la Monty Python and the Holy Grail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Ferelden Kuh-Nig-Ets!!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry. Really. I shouldn't browse k-meme when I'm on painkillers. This is my first ever crackfic, and first ever attempt at writing humor but, I have a super serious love of Monty Python and this prompt was just GOLDEN.
> 
> *******
> 
> From the K-meme Prompt:  
> Cullen figures that laying siege to Adamant will be a piece of cake since it was built before the advent of modern siege equipment. But he forgets that Adamant is not merely garrisoned by Wardens. It's garrisoned by _Orlesian_ Wardens.  
>  Let's see Cullen and his silly Fereldan Inquisition kuh-nig-gets being repeated repulsed by harsh Orlesian taunting. And by catapults loaded with _les druffalo_ and _les moutons_.  
>  Prompt: [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13275.html?thread=50805467#t50805467).
> 
> For the uninitiated:[Watch the scene here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A8yjNbcKkNY).

Adamant fortress loomed ahead of the Inquisition’s marching forces like a beacon of shining light in darkness. Cullen maneuvered his horse in between the marching troops, all the while shouting encouragement to his men. Many faces were nervous, though Cullen himself had little trepidation. After all, the ancient Grey Warden fortress had been built long before there were inventions like the modern trebuchets and sappers marching at the head of their army. It would take little effort to bring the walls down. When their fortress lay in ruins around them, Cullen had little doubt the Wardens would surrender immediately.  
  
 _“Cullen, are you sure about this?”_  
  
 _“Of course, Inquisitor. Our army’s might cannot be bested. I promise you, Adamant will be ours even before you arrive.”_  
  
Cullen smirked to himself as he spurred his horse forward. There was nothing that would stop him from taking the fortress.  
  
Several hours later, they arrived but something was very wrong with Adamant. The Inquisition had arrived, expecting an immediate assault but none came. The trebuchets were set up, the soldiers ready to charge and still, the fortress remained silent. The Inquisitor was due to arrive several hours after the army’s arrival and no battle had even begun. Cullen had wanted an easy victory, but not _that_ easy. Of course, he was also a gentleman and a dashing Knight. He certainly wasn’t about to attack the fortress without giving his opponent a _little_ warning. Just because they were at odds didn’t mean that poor sportsmanship would be tolerated. So, clad in his best armor and glorious lion helmet, Cullen rode up to the gate of Adamant and called out to the inhabitants inside:  
  
“Hello!” there was no answer. He looked around nervously to his fellow soldiers, cleared his throat and called again, “Hello!”  
  
Suddenly, a head appeared over the wall. It was a woman, with a sharp face and silver hair closely shaved to her scalp. “Hallo! Who eez eet?” she shouted down to him.  
  
Cullen stood straighter, his hand balancing on the pommel of his sword. Though the helmet covered the incredibly sexy scar on his lip, he knew he cut an impressive figure. Several of the soldiers, man and woman alike, swooned as he posed before the gate. “It is Commander Cullen, and this is the army of the Inquisition. Who are you?”  
  
“I am Coh-mman-derr Clarel of ze Warrdens.”  
  
“Ah, then I must tell you that we have been charged by the Lady Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste herself with taking this fortress. We know you have been summoning demons for an army.”  
  
Clarel reared back a little, surprised. “Oh no, that eez ohkay. We are verry ‘appy here and ‘ave done no dee-mon summohning, yoo zee?”  
  
Cullen blinked. “Oh, ah, can we come up and have a look then?”  
  
Clarel scoffed and waved her hand away at Cullen, as if he was a bug flying in her face. “Of courze nawt! You are Ferelden typez!”  
  
“Well, what are you then?” he demanded.  
  
“I am Orlesian! Why elze wood I ‘ave thiz outrageouz accent, you zilly Coh-man-derr?”  
  
He sighed and shifted his weight. _Orlesians_ , he thought, _as if things weren’t bad enough._  
  
“What are you doing in the Western Approach?”  
  
“Mind your own business!”  
  
Cullen scowled. “If you will not prove that you haven’t been summoning demons, then we’ll have to take your castle by force!”  
  
She leaned over the stone barrier of the gate and taunted, “Yoo don’t fright-en uz, Ferelden nug-dogs! Go and boil yourr bottoms, zon of a zilly pers-ohn! Ay blow my nohz at yoo, so-called Coolen Coh-man-der! Yoo and all your silly Ferelden kuh-nig-gets!”  
  
She pulled back from her position leaning over and threw her arms up in the air, stuck her thumbs in her ears and blew a raspberry at Cullen. He was so shocked at first; he stood there while the sound echoed around him. He opened and closed his mouth several times before finally, feeling his cheeks a flame, ripped the lion’s head helmet off and threw it at an unsuspecting soldier. It collided with the man’s armor and sent him toppling over with a surprised cry.  
  
“Now look here!” Cullen yelled, pointing his finger up at Clarel. “My good woman-“  
  
“Ay dohn’t wwant to talk to yoo no more, yoo empty-headed a-nee-mal food trough why-perr! Ayy fart een yoor gen-er-all die-rection! Yor mother waz a nug and yor fah-ther smelt of speen-dal-weed!”  
  
“Is there someone else up there I can talk to?”  
  
“No! Now go a-way orr ay shall taunt yoo ay zecond time-eh!”  
  
He pursed his lips and scowled at her. “Now, this is your last chance. I’ve been more than reasonable.”  
  
Clarel’s head popped behind the wall for a moment and Cullen could hear her murmuring to someone. He smiled and puffed his chest a little, sure that the Warden had finally relented. All it took was a little bit of-  
  
The sound of a catapult firing pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up and saw a huge black shape flying towards them, which Cullen swiftly realized was in fact, a huge druffalo.  
  
“ANDRASTE’S TITS!” he cried as he dove out of the way.  
  
The druffalo landed with a resounding thud directly on top of his messenger. It was the very same man who had interrupted his first kiss on the battlements with the Inquisitor. Ah well, karma was a bitch and it served the cockblock right. Cullen rose to his feet and brushed off his armor. Drawing his sword, he held it a loft and cried, “charge!”  
  
As he did so, he heard several more catapults firing simultaneously. He looked up and saw Clarel and several other Orlesian Wardens throwing things over the side of the wall. Druffalo, several rams and huge bunches of elfroot pelted the ground around them. As he neared the gate, a pink nug hit him square in the face, squealing as it tried to scamper away.  
  
“Maker’s- fuck!” he cursed as he heard a Halla honk from somewhere behind him as it hit the ground. The devastation was immense. One soldier had been crushed to death by bronto, another was covered in some sort of black, viscous liquid that smelled of Maker only knew what and another poor sod - really the worst of them all - had become completely entangled in a mess of plaideweave cloth. It actually physically hurt Cullen’s eyes to look at him as he screamed hysterically for mercy.  
  
“Oh, void. Run away!” he cried, rallying the few troops he had left. Even over the din of their clattering armor, Cullen could hear Clarel blowing raspberries at his back and throwing out profane insults in Orlesian. He grimaced to himself. He knew that the Fortress would have Wardens. But, Maker, he didn’t know they’d be _Orlesian_.  



End file.
